Member since June 8, 2012 | 2,875 Readings |
Jenessa VanZutphen lives and writes in Portland, OR.
My mouth has a mother
I harbor her cold / tongue. I hang it / heavy on the drying / rack. /
The summers were all watermelon. Mom would cut that big green candy skin wide open, the knife plunging into the deep pink fruit belly. I was five…
I want her heart to beat / its peril with a small switch / / / the cannon, let loose / on fatality’s bare ass. / / / I want to offer…
/ In the young room, we sit between / the sinks. Sister’s small legs dangle – / she is all nightgown and toes. Her shins are plump with…
At the grocery store my grandmother is dying. The man in front of the counter leers at the salmon swimming belly up in crushed ice. His finger…
The flies, smaller even than the girl / / pupils that dilate, widening with / / accordion breath, inhaling the light. / / / / The…
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Zachary Scott Hamilton
SHARE YOUR SILHOUETTE WITH ME // Her neck is frozen centaur, and wings of necklace, and knots of thread at her spine, / half of the world are…
Soggy Boots in the Desert
Camp in the sandy wash bed. / Dip our toes in cool streams. / Chris mentions the monsoons. / / Not a gamble in this heat. Maybe next month....
Walk to Work
Here is a place / where everything used to matter / And so, everything matters. / A casual blizzard blankets distant echoes / -the laying of…
5pm in San Manuel. Imaginary waves // Rise off the caramelized Sonoran, / Crash at the baby-blue feet of the Catalinas. / I haven’t earned my…
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